Page 11 of Must Love Christmas

“Yaaaaaaas ya dancer!” Garen high-fived him. “This calls for another bottle of wine. You like Riesling?” He was out the door before Simon could respond.

Simon took a deep breath and looked around the living room. Somehow, he’d agreed to live here. With Garen. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As he was collecting the fallen ice cubes and putting them back in the cup, his phone bleeped with an email notification. Simon went over to the table and read the message from the urologist on Royal Terrace:

Sorry I’m working tonight. If you’re still in Glasgow tomorrow perhaps we could arrange a viewing in late afternoon.

Just as Simon went to answer, Garen returned with the wine and two clean glasses.

Simon read the doctor’s email aloud, then said, “I’ll tell him I’ve already found a place.”

“You could do that.” Garen set the bottle and glasses on the coffee table. “Or…you could maybe have a look at it and see what you think?”

Simon noticed Garen seemed much more subdued than when he’d left the room a few minutes before. “I thought you wanted me to live here.”

“I do. I did. I do. Look…” Garen faced him but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not keen on beating about the bush. I think it’d be lovely to have you as a neighbor.” He bit his lip. “Rather than as a flatmate.”

After all the relentless cajoling, Garen had changed his mind? “Was it something I said?” He’d probably gone overboard with the interview. But once they’d moved to the couch, things had seemed to turn friendlier, though it wouldn’t have been the first time Simon had totally misread the room.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Garen said. “Or ideally it’s both of us, but—”

“It’s fine. I get it.” Simon picked up his tie and turned for the door, eyes heating with the humiliation of rejection.

“No, you don’t.” Garen stepped into his path, nearly crashing into him. “I fancy you, okay? I know we just met, but I think the feeling might be mutual, and even if it isn’t—God,especiallyif it isn’t—it would be awkward for you to live here whilst I’m carrying a torch. We’d be too much—you, me, and the torch.” He finally took a breath. “Too much for one small flat.”

Simon’s pulse pounded in his ears. The feeling was definitely mutual, but this whole situation had moved so fast…

Garen continued: “Not that we have to get together right now—if you’re even interested, I mean.” He shifted one foot behind the other. “But it could be an option after you move to Glasgow. We could have dinner or drinks or…” Garen rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno.”

Simon couldn’t bear to let the awkward moment drag out any longer. “Okay.”

Garen brightened. “Okay?”

“I’ll tell the doctor I’ll pop by to see his flat tomorrow afternoon.” Simon pulled out his phone and started to type. His thumbs were trembling with excitement, for though Garen had backed up a step, he was still near enough to touch.

Then Simon stopped. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

He looked into Garen’s hopeful eyes, wondering just how much he was offering. “Where’ll I spend the night?”

Chapter 3

“You’d stay here, obviously,”Garen said, though he worried it might make Simon flee for good. It was one thing to invite him to dinner and drinks, and quite another to ask him to stay over, with all the nakedness that implied.

Simon glanced at the sofa. “Here, as in…”

“As in, wherever you like.” Garen nodded vigorously, relieved Simon had thought of the non-bed option. “I’ve got extra blankets for the couch or the spare bed, or…” He swiped a hand over his face, which was growing warmer every second. If he’d just kept his mouth shut, he could have had a lovely new friend and flatmate.

No, he’d done the right thing, the responsible thing. It would’ve been hell to have Simon within arm’s reach every day and be unable to touch him. It wasn’t often that Garen could look into the future and see the consequences of a poor decision, but this path to disaster was well-lit and clearly marked.

Now that he’d spoken, they’d either be neighbors—and maybe more?—or they’d never see each other again.

Simon swayed slightly, seemingly trapped by indecision. “I should go,” he said.

Only he didn’t go. Instead he leaned over and kissed Garen.

Not on the mouth, and not on the cheek, but rather on the in-between zone, on the ridge of Garen’s upper jaw as it arced away from his nose. It was sweet and sexy and kind of confusing.

---